Getting Even
by charmelia
Summary: ... Or at least that's the excuse being used. Post'Six Days' 1 and 2. Intended oneshot. AlexAddison.


**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. But you already know that.

**A/N:** I wrote this after 'Six Days' (Pts 1 and 2) but before 'Great Expectations' was aired, so forget that episode ever happened, mm'kay? Written in second person for a change, and feedback is love. Is intended to be one-shot, but you never quite know with these things. Oh, and anyone who gets snappy with my British spelling can go jump in a lake, guh.

---

She is hard to miss. Even if one had no interest, be it professional or personal, one would always notice the clicking heels, the crisp skirt, the dauntless red hair that never had a strand loose. As she strode down the hallway, she always walked with a mission. Even when she was engrossed in a patient file or chart, she was a formidable presence.

But you know better. Everyone has a vulnerable side. No one can hold up that strong, controlled façade one hundred percent of the time. You were fortunate – you think – to have seen more of the vulnerable in her than most. Certainly more than any other intern.

But you wouldn't know it, just from glancing at her from your position at the nurses' station. In fact, the urge to squeeze your eyes shut and try to picture a different version of her, such as the one you saw two nights ago, is strong. But you don't.

Because it's Addison Montgomery, and within these four walls of Seattle Grace, it's dangerous to think of her as anything but the first-rate, highly respected neonatal surgeon that she is.

Nevertheless, the niggling in your mind takes you back two nights, to the Emerald City Bar. She hadn't seemed so flawless, so lustrous in the non-fluorescent light of the bar. She'd heard Joe ask about George's father, seen the remorseful shake of your head. She'd quietly grabbed your attention with a casual "hey" of acknowledgement, and it only took you a moment to decide that this was an invitation for company. You had moved up the bar towards her, sliding a paper coaster along the granite surface of the bar. You had sat closer than what was probably necessary, but she hadn't flinched.

You wondered why she asked about your father. It didn't seem particularly relevant to Laura Grey, or any other baby they'd treated over the past week. George's dad? But it was evident something was playing on her mind, and so you answer honestly.

It seemed to have been the right answer. And though you should have at least half-expected it, the taste of her rum and Coke lingering from her lips sent a jolt of surprise down your spine. For minutes afterwards, your jawline had burnt from the imprints of her hands.

But that had been two days ago.

Yesterday had passed in a blur of MVA victims, and since none of them had been pregnant, you saw nothing of Addison for the entire shift. You didn't know whether to be disappointed or grateful. Nevertheless, you chose not to follow the rest of your fellow interns to Emerald City at the day's end, even though they were trying to cheer up George. You knew you were coming off as an ass once more, but Meredith had sensed that there was more to your dismissal than merely being selfish.

They left together without you, and you went home alone.

But it looked like this day wouldn't be like the last. You _are_ seeing her, even if she isn't seeing you. Her background presence is constant in the corner of your eye, and you only snap to attention when Bailey shoots out your name in instruction.

"...and Karev, Sloan. Grey, you're with Dr Montgomery. Stevens, pit. Go."

The others dash off in their own directions, lest they feel the morning wrath of Miranda Bailey. You don't bother, spying Mark Sloan strutting down the stairs in his usual condescending fashion. Inwardly you groan as you wait for him. Plastics had not lived up to the promise that it had in the beginning.

"So, back in the Plastics game, Karev?" he says with a raised eyebrow as he approaches.

"Yes, sir," you nod, refusing to betray any kind of emotion that he could pry on. "Got anything interesting today?" you continue, not even bothering to show some hopeful enthusiasm. You'd only be disappointed.

Sloan thinks hard for a moment. "Yeah. I'm missing my updated charts for eighty percent of my post-op patients, so if you could chase those up for me that would be _great_." He emphasises the word with mock sincerity, and it takes all your self-control not to roll your eyes.

He begins to saunter off again, when you instinctively call after him. "I was actually referring to something surgical," you say loudly, standing your ground. He slowly turns back, cocking his head questioningly.

"Charts _are_ of surgeries, Karev."

"So no chance of me picking up a shiny instrument any time soon, then," you proclaim, fuelled by his irritating but predictable patronising.

He smirks. "Nope, no chance." He walks away once more.

You twitch your mouth in an expression of utter annoyance. You shouldn't have expected anything more, but there was always that distant hope that Sloan would eventually surrender and let you _do_ something. Not today, obviously.

It's times like these where you sorely wished you were back in obstetrics. Squishy and pink, perhaps, but you reaped surgical rewards tenfold. And even if you didn't want to publicly admit it, working there had taught you a lot more than simply performing a C-section.

In fact, now was probably the time for Dr Montgomery to pipe up and offer you a surgery of her own, but strangely she seems to have disappeared in the last minute or so. You sigh, and gather up the post-op patients' files. The quicker they were done, the quicker you could crawl to Bailey to do something more productive.

Ninety minutes later, you've finished the charts, and checked on the patients for extra, non-existent kudos. Exiting the final patient's room in order to hunt down either Bailey or Sloan, the flaming mane of hair catches your eye once again. You look at her coming down the hall, and she senses it. She appears to freeze, but then puts her head down and continues to walk determinedly towards you. Her purposeful stride betrays nothing of what she's thinking.

You wait for her to say something, make some sort of movement. Acknowledge your presence in any small way. But she doesn't, her intense eyes diverted as she passes you.

"Doctor Montgomery," you say, not too loud as to catch everyone's attention, but not too softly as to provoke undesired interest.

Keeping her back turned as she walks, she waved a hand in apparent disregard. "Not now, Karev."

You chew over your words and options, not appreciating a snub. You concede that if that ever happens, it's because you've done something to deserve it. This time, however, merely standing there seems to warrant a cold shoulder, and that isn't good enough.

"Well, when you get a minute, I'd like to talk about the kissing," you say, your voice rising spitefully, your fuse short.

Your words have the desired effect. She stops and turns around, not saying a word. The calm before the storm. Her eyes are piercing, her lipstick-lined mouth pursing in deep disapproval. Yet she doesn't speak, though her hardened face says volumes. Scrutinising you for a moment, as though wondering what possessed your outburst, she abruptly turns away and heads down the hall, disappearing around the corner.

For once, you had been the one doing the burning. Yet it didn't feel quite as satisfying as you'd expected, and you walk in the opposite direction, reluctantly weakened.

---

The sandwich is bland. You wonder why you didn't go for something else, but then again, hospital food is still hospital food. You tear a crust off, not really noticing what you're doing.

The others are discussing George. Callie had recruited him for a surgery and whilst he was gone, the opportunity is taken to dissect and analyse what he might be feeling. Izzie, not surprisingly, is doing most of the talking. Having just recently lost someone herself, you wonder if she would have appreciated this kind of chat about _her_, but don't make it a point to raise. You want to walk out of this hospital uninjured, after all.

"I mean, George was the only one of us who had a real father," Izzie was saying as you half-listen. "Mere, yours disappeared like mine; Cristina -"

"Yeah, we all know," Cristina broke in shortly, looking unimpressed at the topic as she picked at her salad.

"And Alex -"

Your head snaps up. "Huh?"

"Your dad."

"What about him?"

"What's up with you today?" Cristina questioned instead, cutting Izzie off. She's screwing up her face, almost irritated as she waits for an answer.

You shrug. "Nothing."

"You seem awfully quiet," Meredith puts in, and you glare at her across the table. "What?" she defends.

"You are," Izzie confirms, not helpfully.

"Sloan's being a jerk," you say lightly, rolling your eyes.

"Isn't he always a jerk?" Cristina counters, not looking convinced.

"But I've gotta go get some surgeries off him," you added, standing up with your half-empty tray. "Or I'll get nowhere."

"More nowhere than he already is," you hear Cristina mutter under her breath, but you ignore her as you walk away. Easy for her to say – even with Burke still recovering from his second surgery, she still manages to swipe all the good cardio cases.

You fasten your paces down the hall, on the lookout for any sign of Sloan. Or even Bailey, you are that desperate. Maybe you should grab another bone-dry cappuccino to soften him, you think as you suddenly catch sight of another attending. She's flipping through charts, not watching where she's going, and it gives you the chance to make your escape.

But you don't.

It's now or never, and you know it.

Ignited with a fresh, but rather uncontrolled determination, you swing past her, grabbing her arm as you go. She gives a small gasp of surprise, too caught off guard to put up a fight. A second later you're pulling her into an empty exam room, shutting the door behind you.

"Karev, what do you think you're doing?" Addison asks, her exasperation tinged with alarm. You're secretly pleased that you're the cause of that alarm.

You round on her, hands on hips. "Like to explain what was going on two nights ago?"

She has the decency to not hide her discomfort. "You feel the need to drag me in here to ask me?" she says, stalling for time.

"Since you don't seem to be too interested in other types of communicating? Yeah, I do."

She seemed to surrender, sighing deeply as she looked down to compose herself. "Look, Alex," she begins, which in itself it foreign to hear as she uses your first name so rarely, "I'm sorry. It's been -"

"A weird week?" you supply dryly, unimpressed by her explanations.

She seems to sense your apprehension towards her words and tries again. "It was – it was completely unprofessional, a lapse in judgement and I apologise."

"Two lapses in judgement, you mean," you put in, reminding her of the time you had almost, but not quite, kissed her over Laura Grey's incubator. She swallowed, and you knew that you had cracked through the hard, professional shell of Dr Montgomery.

"Karev, I am your attending. I can't – this can't go on. You know that."

"Whilst Doctor Burke is with Cristina and your ex-husband is with Meredith?" You retort harshly. The words sting, and you know it.

Addison narrows her eyes and scrutinises you. You want to squirm under her gaze but stand perfectly still. You feel her breath of exhalation across your face – or do you just imagine it?

"What do you want from me?" she says in a dangerously low voice.

For the first time, you feel like you're the disadvantaged one. Your mind is blank and you stumble over your unspoken words blindly. You don't know. You hate the thought of her going back to Sloan – the smug bastard – and wonder how that crept up on you. You supposedly hate Dr Montgomery, or the "She-Shepherd" as you vaguely remember calling her once. You hated acting the part of gynaecologist. You couldn't wait to get into Plastics.

Suddenly, everything you stood for, every opinion you had formed, has been tossed out the window. You want to be a part of the "gynie squad" with Addison, because it definitely _wasn't_ squishy and pink.

Meanwhile, she was still waiting for an answer. As you mulled over your thoughts, her patience had worn thin. "I think we've said all there is to say, Karev," she says with a hint of satisfaction of having the last word, as she made to open the door.

"It was you." The words slip out of your mouth before you have a chance to stop them.

"I'm sorry?" She turns back around warily.

You take a breath. "You're up there on your high horse, because you're the attending. I'm the intern – _your_ intern, and you're the one who tells me what to do. But you started this, so don't try and throw it back on me."

"Takes two to tango, Karev," she says severely, crossing her arms as though to guard herself.

But you're getting irritated. "I was prepared to brush it under the carpet once. Not twice. You don't get to make your excuses."

"Why won't you let this go?" she snaps suddenly, her voice slightly raised. "It was a mistake, an inappropriate one. I've had some personal issues to deal with, and you were in the right place at the right time. Don't go making this into something bigger than it is."

You falter, not wanting to compete with her degree of fire. "Fine. So I was just filling the emotional void."

She sees the flash of hurt flickering across your face and she softens. "I'm sorry. This is going nowhere, and I think it's just better if we leave it at that," she adds pointedly, giving her look to remind you that she is Addison Forbes Montgomery: best neonatal surgeon in the country, and you are merely an intern under her thumb.

The subtle reminder in her green eyes causes something inside you to snap. "No," you mutter.

"What do you -" she begins when you crash your mouth onto hers, fuelled by a hot mixture of irritation, stubbornness and denial of reject. Her weight is thrown back, and she slams into the wall behind her.

And yet she doesn't seem to mind, as she grips at your hair, her elbows digging slightly into your shoulders in a bid to keep you close. Your hands are pressing against the wall behind her, trapping her within your arms. The tenderness and simplicity of her kiss from two nights ago is replaced with a wild, unexpected heat; a burning desire that is going to find a hard time being extinguished.

The thought of someone simply walking past and glancing into the room never occurs to you, and you don't know if she has thought of it either. Maybe she just doesn't care. A throaty groan escapes her as your lips conform against hers like they had never left.

And then you let go, step back, leaving her exposed. Her eyes take a moment to flutter open, and she looks at you in a way that makes you want to grab her once more.

But you don't, and begin to back away, never dropping your eyes.

"You started it that time," you say, your voice surprisingly steady. "This time it was me. Now we're even." Your hand finds the door handle and opens it silently.

A ghost of a smile flickers across her face as you leave the room, as though she's finally accepted you for what it is.

And that's enough for now.


End file.
